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—and in that moment
I was immovably still;
stone, impassable—
there's no advance
to this thing
i'm writing

i've heard tons on
tons of the palisades
and i've never lived
west of the
missouri and
where are the palisades
define it
a minimal

comprehension or-
some other thing-
of the perception
of how people

would go a far long
ways in the palisades
somewhere in
flor'da                              or
god i wish i'd known
the weight-per-
pound a baton
centered on a
human forehead

but you had

i hadn't
saw a video
other day
sheep bleating
scotch air
expelled at her

it looked like

imagine i'd kissed
you in public at
the gas
station the

imagine our
tongues made
kind in
church on
sacred ground
In another life
we'd have been pinky-sworn to
some ******* promise
In supposition
she'd laid her hand in mine and
her palm felt Fate retch
So many lists
So little **** to
               to an expression
               of the expression
of others

I spent a decade
letting others
express my feelings
for me
               and not for
               lack of flaking

I've almost 25-
years strapped to my
              and the greater
              of those years
licking evil

if I'd the ***** to
spit my faults as
simply a product of
nothing then
              they were me
              always me
in tongue-sposed summation
There's water here
for you to drink
if you'll drink it

but there's beer in
your backpack


You're finished
as far as the county
's concerned where

as your backpack
clinks as you walk


Upraised hairs on
your thigh north to
touch of cold fingers

you're still drunk
kid when will you

grow up
This poem was finished while listening to "How Long?" by Vampire Weekend.
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